


Green Lights and Blue Suits

by deadcellredux



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/pseuds/deadcellredux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Rude's last conversation with Chelsea, he contemplates the familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Lights and Blue Suits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flecksofpoppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/gifts).



“Come on,” Reno says.

Reno is holding out his cigarette between thumb and forefinger, covered with the cupped fingers of his hand so as not to expose it to snow. Snowflakes settle on the back of his hand and fall to rest in his hair, and though Reno is _far_ from angelic, if he ever _were_ to look as such, now would be the time. His eyes are wide and questioning, looking an unnaturally bright shade of blue against the blanket of white surrounding them, a loud vision existing amidst the silence of snowfall.

“You won’t know unless you try it. Might be just what you need, yeah?”

Rude shifted his weight from one foot to another, sighed. “If I try it, will you leave me alone?”

“Yes,” Reno says. “This is me, _peer pressuring_ you. Try it.”

Rude shakes his head slightly and takes the cigarette from Reno, puts it to his mouth awkwardly and inhales. Before the smoke even has a chance to completely fill his lungs he is coughing, grimacing.

“That’s fucking _terrible,_ ” he says between coughs. “How the hell—“

“Hey don’t _drop_ it,” Reno says, taking the cigarette back. Rude frowns, places a hand over his chest, slightly disturbed by the burn there. “So uh, not your thing huh?” Reno asks.

“No.”

“I find it relaxing,” Reno said, taking a long drag and exhaling in a gray stream nearly invisible in the snow-dotted wind. “Besides,” he says, eyes shifting off, “just trying to help you get the taste of her out of your mouth.”

Rude pushes his hands into his pockets; it is somewhat of a nervous gesture. He looks at Reno. Rude knows that Reno is if nothing else somewhat _thoughtful_ in his own way, however strange Reno’s methods of communicating the fact can be.

“Lipstick,” Rude mumbles, “tastes fuckin’ terrible.”

“Sure does,” Reno says. He smiles a little bit. “Need to tell a bitch to wipe that shit off.”

They laugh, briefly, and Reno tosses the butt of his cigarette off into the snow, the cherry arching in a glowing ray of smoldering orange. As their laughter dies he speaks again, solemn this time.

“I’m sorry, man. I really am.”

Rude shrugs. “No _I-told-you-so’s?_ ” he asks.

“No,” Reno says. There is silence for a moment save for a gust of wind in their ears, sending snow up in a flurry, and Reno squints against the cold.

“I mean I don’t really know much about _relationships_ or nothing, but…” Reno gestures weakly with a hand before shoving it into his pocket, swinging, with his other hand, the e-mag back up onto his shoulder. His expression brightens. “Listen, how about you take _me_ out to dinner? I guarantee you I’m a cheaper date than _her._ ”

Rude’s expression is outwardly stoic, but Reno can tell from the way his partner’s mouth twitches that Rude is trying not to laugh.

“Want to go see the tree?” Reno asks, the words spilling breathlessly out of his mouth. Rude cocks his head, and though sunglasses obscure his eyes, Reno can tell by the way Rude’s brow slightly furrows that the look on his face is inquisitive, unsure.

“You said that shit was _totally gay,_ ” Rude says.

“It _is_ ,” Reno replies, “but you want to see it, right? You _told_ me you wanted to see it. And since your lady friend skipped out on you, well. I’ll go with you. Come on. Don’t want you to be alone.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and flicks his wrist, flipping his sleeve back a bit; examines his watch. “Got thirty minutes ‘til they do it.”

Rude takes off his sunglasses to wipe snow and moisture from the lenses with a dry section of his scarf, looks at Reno as he does so. He doesn’t need to talk—his eyes express a world beyond what he is about to say—but he speaks, anyway.

“Thanks,” Rude mumbles.

Reno sighs, looks away. “Come on,” he says, quietly. He companionably pokes Rude in the stomach with his e-mag, because Rude is taking too long with his glasses. “I’m fuckin’ _freezing_ standing here”.

They walk, and they talk, and they stop at the place in which a large crowd has gathered, all waiting for the same moment. They wait and watch, and for once nobody seems to notice them— no cautious glances are cast in the direction of the blue suits. Whether or not it’s because they’re wearing scarves and gloves or if it’s because of the joy and escapism of the holiday they can’t tell, but there’s no reaction tonight, and for once things feel normal.

They talk about childhood memories of holidays such as this, of growing up poor, of things desired and never received, of shifting of family and lack thereof—present, absent, fluid through the years. They talk as if nothing else exists, and when the tree finally lights they cheer with the rest of the crowd as if they’re not going to wake up tomorrow and execute AVALANCHE detainees, discuss darkness and blood and _how_ do _you ignore the screams_ and sit in on debriefings regarding SOLDIER First Class, injections, some wayward clone, _creepy stuff_ no kid should ever really know—because that’s what they are, aren’t they— _kids_ —and Rude thinks about how Reno’s only just turned nineteen and Rude’s not that far ahead of him. Rude, for once, feels _exactly_ that, _nineteen_ , awkward and clumsy and shy, rejected by his first real _almost-relationship_ , the first girl who _sort of meant something_ , though he’d never admit it to Reno. Reno—the skinny loudmouth punk-ass kid Rude probably would have beaten up for fun, had they been strangers in Rude’s hometown. And when Reno says, after all is said and done, _let’s go home,_ in that habit he has—for once, Rude really thinks about the word, because that’s what all of this has become, and it’s the clearest definition Rude’s ever experienced.

 _Home_ —a concept Rude associates with Midgar, green lights and blue suits. _More_ than that—unnaturally red hair, cigarettes, that _obnoxious accent_. His partner. And _partner_ , too, is a loaded word—something encapsulating friendship, safety, trust.

When Rude and Reno laugh together after all is said and done, as they walk back to the Shinra building in boots crunching through frost, Rude realizes in one cold clear moment that he and Reno are both _alone_. But then Reno says something _dumb_ , and Rude punches him on the shoulder, and they both laugh, because throughout everything they know that they will always have each other.

They fall silent, eventually. They go home.


End file.
